[a derisive puff of breath escapes his lips, equal parts amused and unimpressed. his gaze moves away from Kit to look out at nothing as he rolls his shoulders idly.]

It doesn't work like that. For every ten morons in the crowd, there's always one like you.

[someone with clear eyes and too much time on their hands, staring straight through the band on stage to the dark moments behind the curtain that had brought them there. he could cloak his emotions in as much mystical imagery as he liked, but they would always know.

...not that it had ever stopped him. Kit was mistaken in believing that only his songs were intimately tied to him - every aspect of every show was a facet of himself, carefully planned and displayed with brazen pride. in moments like these he might hide such details, but the moment the stage lights flickered on he was practically daring the audience to call him out on baring all.

so far no one ever had. whether it was ignorance or fear, he couldn't say, but both possibilities were intensely satisfying.

for now, he lets his stare fall back down onto his companion. intentional or not, he appreciates having the metaphorical upper hand when it comes to height for a little while. it didn't happen often without some intentional positioning of his own.]

You don't need to know about music to figure that out. Just people.